


Taking the Ultimate Plunge Together

by acerbitas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: But they are finally away from Ramsay for good, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Portal to a different world, Subtle references to Ramsay torture, Theon and Jeyne leave Westeros and come to our world, They have to survive as street kids, post-adwd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:25:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acerbitas/pseuds/acerbitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon and Jeyne have recently arrived at Stannis's camp, but Ramsay's men are about to lay siege to the place. Melisandre gets them out in the nick of time, via a portal that leads them to nowhere other than the inner-city streets of OUR WORLD! They have to navigate a harsh new realm together, and hopefully someday they can find a place for themselves in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape At Last

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter work in progress.  
> I love comments and constructive feedback! :)

Theon curled further into the corner of the tent, shivering under his thin blanket and cloak. So far, no one at Stannis Baratheon's camp had tried to hurt him, and he hoped beyond hope that it would stay that way. Not that he wouldn't deserve it if they did, of course. Not after all he'd done. Images of fire and ruin flashed to his mind again, the sounds of yelling peasants and crying children and the dying screams of his horse, Smiler. It had been all his fault. He didn't deserve to avoid being hurt if Stannis's men saw it fit. Seven hells, he didn't even deserve his own name. He'd learned to settle for the silence: the voices that stilled every time he walked by, and the icy stares that he knew wished him dead. Once, the level of ostracizing and unabashed hatred had cut him almost as deeply as Ramsay's flaying knives, but he'd learned to exist in the silence, in the dark. In the dark, at least, he could still live. He could live.

But he couldn't sleep, which was why the storm of unwanted thoughts pulled him under, threatening to drown him, while the rest of the camp slept. He hadn't slept since Winterfell: brief naps for mere minutes or hours at a time before being crudely woken by a hard kick in the stomach from Ramsay, or a bite out of his flesh from one of the bastard's half-starved dogs. Before that, he must have found moments to sleep on the torture rack at the Dreadfort, although he couldn't imagine how. But here, at the camp, the "safest" he'd been yet, he hadn't been able to sleep for a second. He had always imagined the bliss he'd feel when he finally escaped the bastard's clutches, but now that he was finally free from him, the rest of it came crashing down in droves every time he tried to shut his eyes. His betrayal of Winterfell, his rejection by his family, Kyra's gruesome death in front of his eyes that he knew was all his fault. And Jeyne. Jeyne Poole. The one person who had been through the same ordeal he had, the one person who'd understand him, would never want anything to do with him. Not after all he'd done to her. Theon squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden memory, forcing it to go away, but the guilt and pain only got worse with the bright visions and replays of what he'd helped inflict on her. He had tried to rationalize it, once. Tried to blame it all on Ramsay. Ramsay had made him. But Theon could have killed Ramsay, and he hadn't. He'd failed, the way he'd failed all his life. Ramsay's name for him had suited him. Reek, it rhymes with weak.

He tucked the cloak and blanket around him tighter, realizing he'd started to shake even more violently than before. It had been four nights at the camp: four nights with no sleep, and his head throbbed, and an aching soreness had taken over all his limbs and shoulders and spine. He had the thinnest blanket the camp had, he knew, but he hardly deserved even that. The supplies had been meager, and he knew the others had debated about whether to even spare a blanket on him at all.

Forcing his eyes to stay open, open to ward off the horror of what lay behind them, he stared at the emptiness across the tent, hoping and praying that a blank, empty sleep would finally find him. Sleep or death, even, just any kind of escape from this.

But instead of sleep, footsteps came. They came closer to his tent. And closer. Theon tensed up, curling into a ball and hiding his head under his blanket. He squeezed his eyes shut -- too panicked to remember the nightmares, this time -- when someone came inside. The footsteps came closer again and stopped right at where he was. Above his shaking form, he felt a hand on the blanket. His heart dropped into his stomach and sweat broke out everywhere. 

I know I deserve it, but please let it be over soon. Please.

But the hand was gentle, and when shaking his shoulder failed to rouse Theon, the hand pulled the blanket back. He flinched, trying to move away, but there was nowhere to move to.

"It's all right, I won't hurt you." The voice -- a girl's voice -- was gentle, but had an edge that was firm and urgent. "I have to help you, fast. Look at me."

Theon had scrambled into a sitting position in the corner with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. His threadbare rags barely made a difference in the searing winter night's cold, and without even the protection of the blanket, he knew his shivering was pitiful. He wished for a shred of dignity, anywhere, any hope of being able to look at others without being an object of scorn or pity. But he had no right to wish such a luxury, so he slowly moved his bloodshot eyes up to meet the girl's.

Jeyne Poole sat crouched next to him. She wore two layers of clothing, and a pack of provisions was slung over her shoulder. The bag looked big enough for provisions for two. Theon shot the thought down immediately - no one would care enough to pack for him, no one thought of him, no one loved him. 

"My lady Jeyne," he stammered at last. His eyes darted downward, and it took all his strength to not break down in shame. How could he face the woman he'd abused, who he'd helped rape? But her hand reached out and gently stroked the place under his chin before drawing his face back up to look at her. Her expression, shockingly, didn't hold any hate. Theon blinked.

"It's all right," she said again. "You saved my life. How could you expect me to forget that?"

What? He'd...He'd....Oh, that.

"But...but I...all the times I hurt you, the things he made me do to you in the bath, and on his wedding night, I can't possibly have the right to--"

"Shhhh." She ran a caressing hand -- soothing, but still firm and strong -- across his shoulder, making him swallow down a frightening maelstrom of emotions. No one had touched him like that in years, and all the people who had before either didn't mean it, or were now dead. 

"Shh, Theon. Don't worry. None of that was your fault. We both did what we had to do to survive. You can't blame yourself, especially not now that you've got us out. You saved us!" She leaned in for a hug, sending jolting warmth to him in the process. But just as his hands tentatively reached up to hold her in return, she pulled away. Theon yanked his hands back in shame, starting to shiver again. Of course no one would want him touching them with his mained hands. How could he have forgotten? How could he have been so--

"Listen, we'll have more time for comfort another time, but we have to go. Soon. We have to get out of here." The edge of panic had returned to her voice, reminding him of the panic he’d heard from Kyra’s warnings. He swallowed. It felt like swallowing an ice cube.

"Stannis was found dead. Someone had poisoned his drink in the night, and there's just enough evidence to indicate it was one of Ramsay's men. No one knows for sure, but we think they'll raid the camp, soon. We have to get away."

Theon didn't need to hear more. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling like a cripple from his maimed toes, but sheer terror left no room for embarrassment. Jeyne helped him without a word, putting an arm around him and guiding him out of the tent.

"Don't worry, I packed enough food and cloth for both of us," she whispered. "We have an escape plan. Melisandre, the red witch, she's going to help us. She's going to get us out of here."

Theon clung to Jeyne. It took everything he had to not drop to his knees and bury his face in her skirts, crying and pleading for safety and protection the way he'd clung to his mother as a three-year-old on Pyke. He kept on, but couldn't stop the tears that spilled down his face and froze to his skin as they stumbled through the snow. Please, no please, he thought. Not after all this. He can't come back, he can't find us, not now. Not now. Please.

"It's okay," Jeyne told him, as though she could read his mind. "She knows a way that will guarantee Ramsay never finds us, ever. He won't hurt you. I promise."

Theon's insides turned to steel at the thought of what the bastard would do if he caught them. He had to trust Jeyne, he had to. His arm wrapped around her more tightly, and Jeyne's hand traveled across to the other side of his waist. They moved that way, half walking and half running, holding each other from falling into the snow, as they raced across the camp and to where the Red Witch waited.

"I see you made it."

Melisandre's voice was smooth and clear, like honey, but neutral enough to hold no trace of emotion. Red robes swirled around her -- light robes, but somehow they kept her warm in this freezing hell. Somehow she managed to never suffer. 

"Yes. I brought him. I packed our supplies, enough for both of us, just like you said." Jeyne's voice, still strong, wavered a little bit under the surface. Theon gripped her hand tighter. He hoped his flayed hand and missing finger stumps wouldn't disgust her too horribly, but she squeezed his hand back in response, and moved a few steps closer to him.

Theon's eyes darted anxiously across the tent, roving from the incense and candles on one side to the ritual books and potions on the other. He wondered if he had the right to look at the tent, or at her. It wasn't his right, after all. He had no rights. He wasn't even a man, not even Theon, just some disgusting Reek creature who had been born in the Dreadfort on a rack. Jeyne must have a heart of gold to stand next to him the way she did, holding his hand even, without gagging.

And Melisandre. He looked up at her, dropping one knee in a clumsy bow. "Your Priestess," he stammered. "Please forgive the burden of my presence. I--I--"

"Rise," she told him, her voice still even and neutral. He did, winching with relief from leaving the excruciating position. His knees didn't stop hurting anymore, not since the day Ramsay had taken a sledgehammer to them for refusing to kneel in other, worse, contexts. 

"What would Your Priestess have of me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking more than it was. "I am deeply sorry for my condition, and for making it seem like I have the place to ask you for anything, but please -- please, you don't know how much we've suffered, please let us be safe from him, please--"

"It will be done." Her voice was commanding enough to stop Theon in his tracks. He looked up at her, waiting. 

"I have summoned forces here. Forces from beyond the fiery wall of R'hollor's realm. They will fight off the Bolton intruders. Stannis arranged for me to conjure them - he suspected, before he met his end, that we would need them."

The idea of spirits from the dead attacking Ramsay was too good to be true, but the red witch continued before Theon or Jeyne could respond.

"But the spirits are fierce. They know no bounds, and they know no mercy, no immunity. None but for those who have summoned them - Stannis and myself."

Theon let the meaning sink in. He swallowed and straightened his shoulders. Even in death, even in a death at the hands of the wayward spirits, he would be safe from Ramsay. No hell of R'hollor or the Drowned God could compare to the hell that would await him otherwise. 

"But there's a way out for us," said Jeyne, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "Tell him the rest of it."

He blinked and looked up: first at the provisions bag Jeyne held, then to the Red Witch's fiery eyes.

"You see, the laws of the magic of Westeros adhere to a strict conduct," she continued. "When a portal is opened, the journey must be balanced. For each journey into a portal, a journey must be made out of it. Normally, a soul or souls from here would have to go into the realm of the wayward spirits, but the spell went awry. A new, second portal was opened, and that must be the one you go through."

"Portal to where?" Jeyne's voice shook now, and this time, the grip on Theon's hand was less to comfort him and more to release her own terror.

"I do not know." The witch's voice was solemn. "I have never seen into this land before, but I know they have seen into ours. Another land exists, one where its inhabitants watch ours on a daily basis. I have not seen into it, yet, but it is your only hope."

Jeyne inhaled a shaky breath. "Well," she said, "it's either this or Ramsay's dogs."

Theon didn't need to think twice about making such a choice.

"I--we have no choice, Your Priestess," he said, clutching Jeyne tighter. "We will go through."


	2. A Curious Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and Jeyne arrive in a new, confusing realm. They try to seek sanction from the nearest holdfast, but realize it is not as easy as they had hoped, especially with the threat of new terrors that come out in the night.

Theon and Jeyne landed with a thud, tumbling together onto the ground somewhere outdoors in the new land. Theon winced at the pain to his ruined knees and raw, newly-growing skin, but terror took over him and left no room for the pain. Though far from home -- he realized with a pang that he'd never see Asha again, or his mother, or the few people in Winterfell who might have come to forgive him -- this place at least didn't look too alien, not as much as he had feared. It still had trees, and grass, and frost clinging to everything around them. While not as snow-entrenched as Westeros, this place still seemed to be deep in the trenches of winter. He wondered how long the winters here lasted. Would there be Others to defend themselves from? Would there be a castle with decent provisions, somewhere that would take them in?

"Where are we?" whispered Jeyne, clutching onto Theon and squeezing his arm so hard it hurt.

"I...I don't know." Theon swallowed and tried unsuccessfully to stop shaking. He had to be strong for her. They looked around some more. They had landed in a woodsy brush, surrounded by concealing low trees and lush flowers, but the sounds of human voices carried over from nearby, from the other side of the hedges where they couldn't see. Theon moved some bush branches aside, creating a space for them to see through. Jeyne moved in closer to get a look, and they stared together, their faces side by side. A wide expanse of grass spread out before them. Benches sat scattered across the yard, where people sat and talked, some of them with dogs and leashes. 

"This place has dogs," he whispered to her, smiling. "At least we know those, right?"

She nodded quickly, entranced with the view. Past the dogs and people and benches, a watery place was at the center of the yard: a stone pool with bubbling water that spurted from an elaborate statue. The closest similarity Theon could think of was perhaps one of the hot springs at Winterfell. 

"Theon, look at their roads!" she whispered with a mixture of awe and fear. Theon followed her gaze to the grey stone roads that ran in all directions like a spider's web. They weren't paved with stone: the entirety of the paths were smooth, with yellow lines creating separate lanes. Some of them had as many lanes as eight. Hulking monstrosities chased each other down the paths, made out of something that looked like iron, but in hues of bright red, shining blue, grey, gold, black. They stared, transfixed. Theon inched closer to Jeyne and put an arm around her, trying to hide the nervous lump that had formed in his throat.

"What...what do you think those are?"

"I don't know. Do you think they'll come after us?"

"I...Well, it doesn't look like it. It looks like they have to stay on the grey stone. Maybe there's some magic of this world, some law that keeps them there. But it looks like they're trying to hunt each other."

"But why? What do they want?"

"I don't know."

"What ARE they?"

Theon held Jeyne's shaking hand. "Sssh, it's okay," he whispered into her hair. "Whatever they are, they can't be worse than Ramsay, can they?" He'd meant it to make her feel better, but at the mention of his name, Jeyne's hand had gotten colder and sweatier in his own, and her lips started to tremble.

"Ssssh. Shh, come here." He pulled her close to him and wrapped both arms around her, stroking the top of her head while keeping an eye on the bright-colored iron creatures. To his relief, Jeyne's body loosened up again and she gently pulled away a minute later, face dry and free from tears.

"Look, I see people in those," she said suddenly. "They're...they're riding the iron creatures, telling them which way to go."

Theon looked where she was pointing, and she was right. "Maybe they're like horses in our world, or dragons, but they can go faster. Or maybe they're like carriages that don't need to be pulled."

"Maybe! Theon..." Jeyne got up to her knees, slowly crawling around the hedge, staying low as to not be seen. "At some point, we've got to go look around some more in this place. We already know there's other people here, humans like us. Or at least, they look like us. And there shouldn't be any kind of monsters nearby, nothing too dangerous, or else the people wouldn't be out. Would they?"

She was right, and he knew it, but...no, Ramsay wouldn't be in this world. He couldn't be. He shoved the thought from his mind, but the sudden weakness he'd felt in his chest didn't go away.

"What if they're not friendly people? What if they rape foreigners and roast them and eat them, like the tribes beyond the wall?"

"It doesn't look like they will. Come on, at some point we have to come out."

Jeyne slowly stood, and Theon did the same, moving closer to Jeyne and standing by her side. He took a deep breath. She nodded at him, and slowly they moved out beyond the hedge.

Now in the view of people, they realized they had attracted a few stares.

"We look different from everyone else," she whispered nervously. "We're dressed different. We're acting out of place."

"Just walk, then," he whispered back. "Just walk straight and don't stop. Remember what I said before, when...then? It's just like that now. Just go, and don’t look back, and if anything happens to me, just keep walking."

They walked, and walked and walked and walked, until they were off of the courtly-looking lawn and onto a thinner strip of concrete road, not the one with the iron creatures, but one next to it, where people up in the distance were walking. Neither said a word as they looked around, taking in their surroundings as much as they could handle. Towers rose up into the distance, towers made out of sleek metals with clear glass windows, and other buildings Theon couldn't even recognize. A concrete wall had risen up on the other side of the stone path. Brightly-colored paintings decorated the stone wall. Some of the paintings looked like names, while others were symbols that they didn't recognize.

"Who do you think painted these?" Theon asked.

"I don't know. The ones with names look like they could be the doing of people who had won victories, here. Maybe bannermen telling the land that they'd won battles here?"

"I don't see anywhere near here where people would be having battles, Jeyne. Maybe it's saying who's kingdom we're in?"

"Maybe."

"We need to figure out how to get around in this place. We have some money, but I have a feeling it won't be the right kind. And we have to find out how to get clothes like everyone else's, and food, and a place to sleep, and...." He trailed off and took a deep breath. He had to stay calm. He had to.

Jeyne moved closer to him, leaning on his weakened frame. She was definitely shivering harder than before. "I'm scared," she confessed.

He stroked her arm gently with his right hand, the hand that was only missing one finger instead of two. Unfortunately, leaving Westeros behind hadn't healed his wounds. 

"Don't be scared. You don't have to feel frightened. He can't find us here. Remember your name, it will give you strength."

“I…” she choked up with the hint of tears. “I know. Thank you, Theon.” She reached up and traced his scarred face gently with the tip of her finger. Before he could see it coming, she leaned up on her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

His heart raced, confused, stunned. He tentatively licked the place on his mouth where her lips had been. A trace of salt was there. So the moment had been real.  
He took her hand. “Thank YOU.” 

\- 

They remained there, standing side by side on the stone path, when a man and woman approached them in the distance.

“Here’s our chance,” Jeyne whispered. “We can ask them for help.”

Theon pulled her closer. “What if they hurt us?”

“They’re smiling. They seem kind. They won’t be like…like the way HE was, I don’t think. I can feel it.”

The couple reached them. They smiled quickly, politely, and the man moved behind the woman to give Theon and Jeyne room to pass by. Theon didn’t miss the puzzled sets of eyes examining their clothes and bag.

“Ex…excuse me,” said Jeyne timidly, with a polite curtsy, before Theon could stop her. The couple stopped walking. “M’lord, m’lady. Can you please tell us where we might go to find sanction in this realm?”

The woman broke into warm laughter. “Oh, look at them!” she said, shooting an amused glance at her husband. “Medieval impersonators! We’ve never run into those before.” She turned back to Theon and Jeyne. “You know, I’ve always thought that looked like so much fun. Are you on your way to a convention?”

Theon swallowed. He had a feeling this would be a hurdle, but at least the man and woman seemed kind. “We…we are looking for shelter,” he said. “We came from another land. We do not know the ways and customs of this place.” His voice wavered slightly, and the woman smile turned into a confused frown.

“Are you two…all right?” the woman asked, eyes flickering over to exchange a look with her partner. 

“If it please you, m’lord, m’lady, could you perhaps spare us some help? A coin or two, perhaps, or directions to the lord’s holdfast?”

The man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You two have a great little act going on here, but don’t think you can play us for drug money. We’re not stupid, you know.”

“For what kind of money?” asked Jeyne. Theon pinched her arm lightly, but it was too late. “What are drugs? Is that the common coin of the land?”

The man grumbled something unintelligible and looked over at his companion, whose expression had turned to annoyance. 

“You kids might be having some fun now, but you better make sure you aren’t pestering the wrong people. This isn’t a safe area. It gets extremely sketchy here at night. Where are you from? And talk normal. Cut the pretend act.”

“Yes, mi—” Theon stopped himself, realizing that maybe people didn’t say ‘lord’ and ‘lady’ in this land. “Yes, we mean no offense. We are lost. We are not from any part of this….place. Really, we’re lost, where might we get some help?”

The man and woman looked more concerned at the way Theon and Jeyne stood there, looking genuinely small and frightened and lost. 

“How old are you?”

Theon remained silent. The silence grew awkward until Jeyne answered.

“I am fifteen, if it pleases, and my companion is nineteen years.”

The woman’s frown deepened and the man’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Should we be calling your parents?”

“We have no parents to call, I’m afraid. They cast us out at a young age. M’lord, milady.”

The man looked at his wife. “I think we need to be calling the police.”

Theon felt like a bucket of ice water was dumped down his back. Police meant flogging, or being cast over the Wall, or a beheading. Who knew what laws this land held, what laws they’d broken? He turned to Jeyne. “Run.”

The two raced away from the confused couple, racing on and on and on until their lungs were about to burst, bounding around corners and past buildings and far, far away, until they were sure they’d lost them. When they could run no more, they collapsed onto the grass next to a thin fence made of intertwined metal. Abandoned homes lay sprawled behind the fence.

“This place looks like the slums where the peasants lived back home,” commented Jeyne.”

Theon laughed. “You’re right. It does. But it looks like no one lives here. You think we lost them?”

“I think we’ve lost…everyone.” A hint of fear had creeped back into Jeyne’s voice. “Look at this place.”

They looked. More of the painted symbols marked the houses: almost all of them. 

“One of those paintings looks like it says ‘Bloods,’” said Jeyne, studying it carefully from through the fence. “I wonder what that means?”

The Bastard’s horse had been named Blood, and the connection made Theon’s heart start to pound, but he forced himself to keep a brave face for Jeyne. 

“Maybe it’s the name of a…tribe, or clan,” he said slowly. He didn’t want to dwell on the other alternative. What if it was a type of predator that came out only at night, like the White Walkers? Could that have been what the noble lady meant when she said the place was unsafe?

It seemed Jeyne had had the same thought. “What if Bloods are something….not human?” she asked, inching closer to Theon and leaning into his body warmth. “What if they feast on people’s blood in the night time? Speaking of which…”

They both glanced wordlessly at the sky. It would be getting dark, soon.


	3. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and Jeyne find shelter and then help revive each other's spirits in the only ways they know.

Theon and Jeyne huddled beneath a shrub, shivering together with the concealing leaves in front of them and the thin metal fence behind them. Darkness had fallen, making the air turn from crisp to freezing. Frost had hardened the grass and leaves, and gripping the metal fence made Theon's remaining fingers hurt with cold. Jeyne took his hands in her own and held onto them. Her fingers shook almost as badly as his. She squeezed his hands gently, and he leaned into her warmth, hoping his smell wouldn't bother her too badly.

Across the street, several of the iron carriages had pulled into the yard of a house so broken-down that parts of the roof were falling in. A circle of young men stood together making some kind of negotiation. Their voices were hard, rough, threatening, and they both knew not to approach them. 

"They're like the bandits from Westeros," Jeyne whispered, watching them interact. One of them had pulled out a fist-sized bag of some kind of powder, and they seemed to be arguing over a price not being high enough. 

Suddenly, a deafening, cracking boom like a cannon filled the air. It had come from an iron stick one of the men had pulled out and pointed toward the air, yelling something about a last warning. 

"I think maybe they're about to fight a war," whispered Theon. "We're right on their battleground."

Jeyne swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat. What kind of wars did people fight here, in this place far away from Westeros? What kinds of beasts might the opposing armies bring out to set against each other? Were these people lords? Would armies of soldiers come? There was no way they'd be safe here, Jeyne thought.

"We need to get away," she whispered back. "But how? They'll see us!"

"We have to climb the fence, somehow. Once we get over it, I think we'll be safer, and then we can run away until they can't see us anymore."

"But...but your..." she ran a finger gently over the missing gaps in his hands. 

Theon cringed at the sudden burst of humiliation he felt. Of course, he couldn't climb. And at the eve of a battle, of all times and places. Here in this new place, he had almost forgotten how useless he'd become, almost forgotten that he was maimed and not good for anything. He squeezed his eyes shut to force back the threat of tears.

"How else can we get away then?" he asked a moment later, once he was confident he could keep his voice steady.

"We'll have to run...we'll have to find a time when they're looking away, and then..."

"Hey! Who are they!" The voice had come from across the street. Theon and Jeyne froze. 

"Might be cops in street clothes. Or snitches. Can't take no chances, can we?" Two of the roughest-looking broke away from their group and strode toward them.

Theon and Jeyne didn't need to tell each other to run. They scrambled to their feet together and raced down the street as fast as they could. But when they turned the corner of the next street, they heard the pursuing footsteps gaining on them, and the cannon noise fired into the air again. They darted into more bushes, hiding as they took shortcuts onto more streets and near more abandoned houses.

"We cannot run fast," Theon blurted out, once they were safe again for the time being. "You were right. We have to climb the fence. If this happens again and someone else finds us, we'll be done for."

They found a place where the fence sagged, and was a little bit lower than in most places. "This is a good place to climb over," Jeyne said. "It will be easier for you, with your..."

But his fingers hurt anyway as he struggled to make the climb. Three of his fingers were missing, making his grips painful, forcing the worst of the weight onto only two or three digits. By the time they both reached the other side, fresh blood ran from his hands.

And it had started to rain. Freezing, biting rain seared through their thin layers of clothing and chilled them to the bone. A fierce, stormy wind had begun to howl, whipping their hair painfully against their faces and making the cold even worse. Shapes of ghost-houses surrounded them, but in the darkness, with no lights, they could barely see a thing. Theon tried to stop his chattering teeth. Chattering hurt the broken teeth, forced pressure onto the places where the raw nerves in his mouth had been exposed by Ramsay's hammer. Ramsay. They were away from Ramsay. No matter the cold here, or the fear they endured, they would never have to see Ramsay again. It was a comforting thought, although it didn't help the cold. He wrapped his thin, shaking arms around himself. Jeyne leaned into him. She was so cold that the gesture didn't give any warmth this time, but he felt better nonetheless. Here, now, at least he had another soul as a companion. This was still a thousand times better than before, when Ramsay would chain him up outside, when the cold was worse and the night was worse and he was left alone with no one.

"We must find shelter," he said at last. If he were alone he would have probably curled up on the ground, thanked the gods for release from the bastard at last, and found peace in the everlasting cold, but now he had Jeyne. He had to save Jeyne. Jeyne, with the small, soft hands and heart of gold. Jeyne was worth saving. And a tiny spark somewhere deep inside him hoped that maybe he could be worth saving, too.

-

Hours later, they sat huddled together on the bottom steps of a basement that had a shattered window just wide enough to let them enter. They had already explored the upper levels of the house, but giant sections of the roof and walls had caved in, making the upper parts exposed and cold. The basement was the safest place to stay. Mildew dripped from the ceiling and bugs lurked in the corners, but it was warmer here, and drier. And they had each other. In one of the corners, a stream of rainwater trickled down from the shattered window like a tiny waterfall and ran off into one of the drains, making a sound like the fountains at Winterfell. Outside, the wind howled mercilessly, but aside from that, the only sounds were the sounds of their breathing.

Jeyne inched closer to Theon, erasing the miniscule amount of space that had been between them. Up close, he could feel her shivering. He slowly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tentatively, bracing himself for her to jerk away in revulsion like everyone else who had come near him over the past more than two years. But Jeyne leaned into the gesture, resting her head against his shoulder in a way that almost nuzzled him. Theon’s eyes blurred with a new, different kind of tears. He blinked them back quickly. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t trust his voice to stay steady, so instead he wrapped both arms around her waist and held her tight. Jeyne’s hands moved up, gently. She held the sides of Theon’s waist, noting how sharply his ribs stuck out even through the layers of clothing. Her hands moved up, caressing his chest and shoulders and neck. By the time she reached his face, Theon had squeezed his eyes shut. Jeyne’s pointer finger lightly traced the skin on his face, all his scars, his lips, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. His closed eyes had started to twitch. Quickly, in a single sudden movement, she wrapped both arms around his thin frame and squeezed him as tightly as her weakened arms let her before slowly easing him downward, letting him rest so that the top half of his body leaned over against hers with his face against her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, taking a long time to smooth the matted tangles as best as she could and massage the scalp beneath. Dirt and dust came off onto her fingers.

“I have soap,” she said softly. Theon looked up, startled.

“In the provisions bag,” she continued. “I also have food and a flask of ale and a change of dry clothes for each of us. And I packed a bedroll, too, but it’s only a thin one, the thicker ones wouldn’t fit. And I couldn’t fit two, so we have to share it.”

Theon blinked. Even with the cold air and stone floor and shattered window and rats and spiders, this basement was still a thousand times better than the dungeon he had lived in at the Dreadfort. And he hadn’t slept on anything besides the torture rack, the dog kennels or the floor in years. The idea of real food, drink, something soft to sleep on, and the company of a friend—a real friend, he had a friend now, someone who treated him kindly and seemed to maybe even value him—threatened to make the tears return. The spark inside him grew. Maybe, just maybe, if the gods willed it, maybe someday he could live. Not just survive, but really live, the way the Robb and Arya and Asha and all the rest had somehow been able to. The way he had been able to, once, a long time ago.

“Jeyne Poole?” he asked quietly. 

“Yes?”

“M—my…my name…” he tensed and swallowed, but Jeyne remained silent and ran a soothing finger along his shoulder, so he continued. “My name is Th…Theon Gr…Greyjoy.” He said it so soft she could barely hear it, so timidly it was almost a question. When their eyes met again, this time it was she whose eyes brimmed with tears. 

“Yes,” she said, with another caress to his face. “Yes, it is.” She wrapped her arms back around him, and it was a long time before she pulled away.

When they finally did let go of the embrace, she sat in front of him and eyed him carefully. Her expression had a level of intensity to it, intensity that held both excitement and fear at the same time.

“Theon….”

“Yes, my lady.” He found that his voice sounded more content than it ever had, despite the howling of the storm that he could barely hear anymore, despite the freezing cold that he hardly noticed. One of Jeyne’s hands gently gripped onto his knee, and her hands were warm, and her voice was warm.

“When you and Robb and Jon had sword fights at Winterfell, I used to hide behind the trees and watch you. All the time.”

“I remember, milady.” His voice wavered at the memory, threatening to break. “Robb and Jon were fine swordsmen.”

Her grip on his knee got tighter. “Not Robb and Jon. I just wanted to watch YOU. I’d lie awake and think about you on those nights, long after swordplay was done. And when we were at…when we were with…when we were back THERE, you were the only one who kept me alive. There were times I wanted to slit my throat with his knife or sneak out and jump from the battlements, but then I thought about you, and how you’d be all alone. I couldn’t leave you in his clutches. We needed each other, the whole time.”

Theon’s throat felt constricted with the weight of the tears that were threatening to wash over him.  
“We need each other now, milady.”  
I need you, was what he didn’t say. You’re the only good thing in my life. The only person who I haven’t betrayed and who doesn’t hate me.

Jeyne moved her hand from his knee and slowly trailed it along his thigh. It was a soft gesture, so soft he could barely feel it, but his freezing skin came alive under the rain-soaked tattered clothes. When she reached the place where his hands lay at his sides, she picked a hand up and ran her own fingers over it. This was the more severely mangled of his hands: both his pointer finger and ring fingers had been removed, and his pinky finger had been halfway flayed, with enough flesh stripped away that the digit was shorter and thinner than it should have been. Burn marks dotted his palm on both sides. The entire wrist had been flayed, once, and caked in salt and vinegar afterward. But Jeyne didn’t say a word about the deformities. She lifted the hand to her mouth and kissed it gently, sending livening jolts down to the core of his heart as she tenderly traced her lips over every scar, burn and hollow. Slowly, her touch erased that hand’s phantom sensations of agony.

“I don’t care what he did to try to make you less of a man,” she whispered, her lips not leaving his skin. “You’re more than a man to me. You’re the only man I know worth loving.”

At the last word she said, Theon’s heart stopped in his chest. He knew, in some part of his mind, that he should say something, something about how he was not even a human anymore and that Jeyne deserved better. But for some reason—he didn’t know why—he couldn’t. The words didn’t come, and even if they did, he doubted he could have made himself say them.

“You...your love is all I will ever need, milady.” He couldn’t stop the tears now. They flowed roughly, shaking him, and he tried to stop them with his stronger hand but it did no use.

“Sssshhhh,” Jeyne whispered. She sounded soothing, like his mother had been. She climbed up to position herself so that she sat on her knees over his lap, with one knee planted on either side of Theon. She leaned up to his face and kissed him where the tears fell, nuzzling his nose and cheeks and forehead with her own and licking away the salty tears with a tentative, flicking tongue. All words had escaped Theon. He had forgotten how to speak. So he reached up both his quivering hands and placed them in her hair, stroking her damp, tangled curls.

Jeyne’s lips moved up to meet his own, and Theon kissed her in return, his tears now falling on both of their mouths so fast she couldn’t stop them. But she was preoccupied with his mouth now. She gently bit his lower lip, not painfully, just a gentle tug, just enough pressure to let him know she wanted him. Her tongue probed the place right above it, exploring Theon’s mouth, taking care to be gentle in the places where his teeth were loose and broken. His tongue eventually joined hers, and they kissed for what felt like hours, each of them pressing into the other, burrowing into each other’s bodies as deep as they could go, seeking shelter in the only source of sanctuary they had. 

Their too-thin bodies shook together beneath their ragged clothing, shivering uncontrollably from the cold, and from shock, and from…from whatever energy pounded through them now, slowly warming their souls and giving them a new burst of life. They had gotten as close to each other as they possibly could, without officially coming together as man and woman. Their arms were wrapped around each other’s bodies, now, and their legs had entwined in a protective gesture, as though each one wanted to shield the other from any trace of cold or pain. Their kissing got more intense, and more, their motions becoming increasingly desperate and voracious. 

Jeyne reached her hand under Theon’s tunic, gliding past the ridges of flay wounds and burn marks and whip scars. She reached the laces and loosened them, the first step one would take to strip the garment from his body.

She paused. “Is it all right if I go on?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They venture out into the world outside their hiding place.  
> It is even harder than they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I co-wrote this with acerbitas! We took turns with it and passed it back and forth every couple paragraphs. She does a fantastic job. From Ch. 4 onward, she is now my permanent cowriter for this fic.

Theon shrunk away from Jeyne, a clear refusal of her request for more intimacy. Disentangling from her, he drew his arms around himself. His eyes were focused on a far point in the room, and they were tearful. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But it hurts. I can’t.”

The cold hit Jeyne, and she clutched the blanket. Theon, she remembered, wasn’t like other men. Jeyne knew how to please other men with her affections; that was nearly all she knew how to do. She realized that hurt, somewhere down inside of her. Somewhere so far down that she easily pushed it away again. There was a reason it was down there, and she didn’t want it to come back up. Not ever.

Flushed and ashamed, Jeyne whispered that she was sorry too. She remember when she had touched him first, a lifetime ago, and he had been horrified. We were close just now, she consoled herself, maybe we can be again soon. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” he said. “But I am not a man. I’m no good at that, except for being used.” He turned his head away from her, eyes clamped shut like he was trying to block out a vision. “I don’t want it,” he said, “I don’t want it anymore. He’s not here. He’s can’t set them on me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeyne said again, appalled. “I won’t touch you. I--”

“Hold my hand,” Theon said, and reached out for her.

She returned the gesture, and soon they were clutching each other tightly.

They held each other for a long time. Outside, the howling wind and rain picked up force, biting them through the open window. It didn’t take long for their skin to turn red with cold. They burrowed into each other again, trying to huddle for warmth, but with their clothes still soaking wet, it didn’t do much good.  
“We’ll have to find somewhere else to stay,” he murmured into the strands of Jeyne’s hair. “Somewhere warm, and dry, where we’re safe.”  
“We do,” she said, nodding slightly. “But we can’t right now.”  
He held her tighter. Eventually they fell asleep, crammed onto their bedroll under the blanket Jeyne had packed. It was a brief, fitful sleep. They both kept waking up, from noises and pain and the cold. But finally it was daylight, and they could sleep no longer.  
Later in the day, they decided they had to find food. Jeyne’s bag had only been able to fit a small amount, and they had eaten the little they had the previous night, almost a full day ago.

Theon did not want to admit how afraid he was of leaving their hiding place; this world was more alien to him than Winterfell had been as a child. The wildly careening carriages and strange lights had baffled him. The strange people in their bizarre clothes had been even worse. He wasn’t afraid, exactly, not like he was afraid of the pain. He was overwhelmed.

But he had to protect Jeyne, now; he looked at it as some kind of mission. He hadn’t had a purpose for a long time, and he treasured her for it. Not just for it, either, he realized. He treasured her for herself, too.

Jeyne was rolling up their bedroll with care, and stuffing her worn but carefully selected items back into the pack. She looked at him, and he knew then that she was afraid, too. Her eyebrows were furrowed; her eyes were wide.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “No matter what, he can’t get us here.” Ramsay’s name was too frightening to say or remember. It didn’t rhyme with anything, so maybe he could forget.

Jeyne smiled wanly, and he wondered what she was thinking about, but didn’t ask. Not because he didn’t want to know, but because he didn’t know how to ask anymore. They left the dilapidated, leaky wreck and cautiously reentered the world. Some of the stores they passed were barred up, and Theon wasn’t sure if some of the items in the windows--Snickers, Milky Way--were even food.

Some of the stores had signs that said: “Shoplifters will be prosecuted!” Theon did not want to be prosecuted, because it sounded painful. But he was hungry, and Jeyne was beginning to look peaked. Whenever Ramsay had starved her, she’d shrunk in Theon’ eyes, like she was even younger than fifteen.

He never wanted to see her look like that again. When he entered the first store that didn’t mention prosecution, all eyes were on him. Theon still reflexively jumped at passing cars, and his clothes did not match any that he had seen. He considered asking for food, but then decided it would be useless. Was begging legal, here?

Jeyne watched him from outside. Her breath came out in puffs, and she put one hand on the strange glass that made up the shop front. Theon vowed she would not starve again, and snuck the strange Snickers bar into his pocket when he thought people had pointedly stopped staring at him. His breath hitched in his throat. If they caught him, and prosecuted him, what would happen to Jeyne? Theon could not think about it. Bowing his head, he scuffled out the door.

At first he thought he had escaped prosecution. Clutching Jeyne’s hand, he tried to walk away from the store nonchalantly. Beneath his fear and hunger was a little bit of shame, but not much. This was nothing compared to what Ramsay had made him do, or had done to him. Somebody grabbed his arm from behind, and he jumped.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is short! Acerbitas and I are co-writing this in chunks and then going back to edit whenever we have the patience for it. :P The next couple of installments are written though so we should be updating pretty soon.

Theon struggled away, eyes wide. He saw Ramsay’s men, then, clear as glass, ready to take him back. He squeaked like a rat, then steeled himself. He glowered at the man and backed off. “Don’t touch me.”

The man put a finger to his lips, as if to tell him to be quiet. Theon did not want to be quiet, nor did he want to stick around to see what this was about.

“Run,” he told Jeyne, but she did not leave him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the man told him. “I promise.”

Theon didn’t trust him, because that was usually a lie. “Right,” he said. “Just leave us alone.”

“We’re having a meeting down the street. It’s Mary’s two year anniversary. Even if you don’t want to learn nothing, there is cake, coffee and chips.”

“What meeting?” Theon asked suspiciously, but his stomach was churning at the thought of cake. He could not remember the last time he had had some.

“It’s Narcotics Anonymous. Come on,” he said, when Theon looked baffled, “I can almost smell the meth on you.”

Theon didn’t know what that was, but he wanted the cake desperately. He wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or not. “Very well,” Theon said, “but if you hurt her I will kill you.”

To Theon’s surprise the man laughed. “Alright, then,” he said. “But like I told you, I don’t want to hurt you. And you probably shouldn’t be stealing chocolate bars.”

“We’re really hungry,” Jeyne said shyly. “I didn’t want to steal, but we didn’t know what else to do.”

“Come with me, then. My name is Jake.”

Jeyne reached out and clutched Theon’s hand in hers. He gripped back, too afraid and overwhelmed to protest. They followed Jake into a room filled with chatting, laughing people. Jeyne’s eyes filled up with tears at the cake; they both devoured their pieces. People went on about recovery from things Theon didn’t understand. But he tried to listen, because they had food, and maybe if he could pretend they were one of them, there would be more.

By the time the strange council had finished, Theon’s head was pounding. He realized that it was getting dark again outside the glass windows, and that meant it would be cold, too. Where would they sleep? He scanned the room with wide eyes, watching everyone slowly filter out.  
But Jake remained with them.

“Do you guys have a place to stay?”

“N...no,” Jeyne answered, her voice shaking. She looked down immediately after speaking, a habit she had picked up at the Dreadfort. “I’m sorry.”

Jake made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. “Sorry. The streets are a rough place. You guys are together?”

“Yes.” Theon spoke up before anyone else could get a word in edgewise. “Yes, we cannot split up.” The last time he had wanted to split up...he shoved the thoughts of Kyra out of his head. “We must stay together.”

Jake laughed, but not cruelly. “I hear you, I hear you. Hey, tell you what. There’s a few of us that were once just like you, trying to get off the ice, with no place to go. We met at the shelter, but when we all had jobs we decided to chip in and scrape up for our own place. How ‘bout you stay there a while until you’re back on your feet?”

“Yes,” Jeyne blurted. “Yes, please, oh please.”

“But...we have no money,” Theon countered. “We will not be able to repay you.”

“We’ll figure something out later, man,” Jake assured him. “Just come on.” 

They followed Jake back outside and through the freezing streets. They boarded a bus--Theon heard what it was by listening, because he did not dare ask and reveal their ignorance--and rode it for what felt like forever. Jeyne’s terrified steel grip on his arm left red marks, but he didn’t say a word. Soon they arrived at a giant fortress, like a castle, but without a sigil or the typical castle furnishings.

“This is our apartment,” Jake said. “It’s kind of sketchy but hey, it is what it is.” Theon didn’t know the meaning of either apartments nor sketchy, but he did not dare ask about either.

They followed him up a narrow stairway. Normally narrow stairways set the fear of the dungeons in his gut, but these stairs were lit by an unseen light, and they were going up, which was always a good sign.


End file.
